


can't move (can't move past it)

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Revenge, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, casefic, so is the convin, the comfort is slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24486010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't even want to think about it. He definitely doesn't want anyone else to find out what happened.All he cares about now is tracking that bastard down so he can get revenge. If the only way to do that is to ask for the android's help, he's willing to make that sacrifice.
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Connor/Gavin Reed, Gavin Reed/Original Male Character(s), Hank Anderson & Connor, Tina Chen & Gavin Reed
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags.
> 
> This isn't a light fic. It isn't about healing. It's about trauma, and anger, and dangerous self-destructive spirals. It might be about revenge, or it might be about getting pulled back from the edge. Proceed with caution.
> 
> \---
> 
> The original inspiration for this fic was that Gavin was getting whumped a lot and I need some H/C fix-it. Except trying to comfort Gavin is like trying to hug a cactus, so it went a little off the rails. Sorry.

Stand up. Just stand the hell up. You need to fucking move. Just get up, off the ground, and walk away from this. Come on, asshole. Just _move_.

Nothing. He couldn't even twitch a finger. Was he dead? Fuck, he hoped not. He had really thought that dead wouldn't hurt this much. No. Not dead. When he focused hard he could feel his chest moving, air going in and out. His heart beating, slow but steady. He could feel the ground under him, cold and hard, something sharp digging painfully into his cheek. But he still couldn't move.

This would probably be a good time to panic, but he couldn't even do that.

Somewhere in the distance he heard a door slam open, hitting against the wall. Footsteps came closer and then there was the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. "Shit!" More footsteps, louder, faster. "Dave! Get the hell out here, I think this guy's dead."

"What the hell are you talking about?" A pause. More footsteps. "Aw, fuck. Just what I fucking needed tonight."

"No, he's still breathing. Go call an ambulance!"

\---

It would have been easier if he just passed out again. That would have been better than listening to the sounds around him, unable to react. The wail of an ambulance siren. Feeling hands on him, unable to tell them to back the hell off. Feeling his body moved like a sack of potatoes, dropped onto a stretcher, loaded into an ambulance. He really wished he could just pass the hell out.

The ambulance moved too fast. Taking corners hard enough to make his guts churn. He didn't even have enough control of his own body to be sick. He really wanted to be sick. He could feel himself being moved again. The stretcher lifted.

"What have we got?"

"John Doe, unresponsive in the field, but vitals are stable."

His eyelids were peeled back, but before he could even try and focus there was a bright light, blinding him. First one eye, then the other. 

“Damn it, look at his eyes. The blue tint to the sclera. Just like that one last month. Get a tox screen to confirm, and check him for ID.” 

Then there were hands, searching through his pockets, and fuck, he really wished he could punch someone. 

“I have a wallet, his name’s Gavin Reed. ...he’s a cop.”

“Gavin, if you can hear me, try to stay calm. You’ve been dosed with a paralytic, and that's why you can't move, but it should be wearing off soon. You’re going to be fine. We just need to check you for injuries.”

Again with the hands. Now they were cutting off his clothes, and if he could have screamed he would have. Fuck off, fuck off, _fuck off_. That was his favorite jacket they were destroying, and the thought--and the surge of anger it triggered--was so ridiculous that he wanted to laugh. But he couldn’t do that either.

He tried to will himself into unconsciousness. This would be a wonderful time to pass out. That still didn’t happen, and he just had to keep feeling everything. There was a small stab of pain as an IV was inserted into his right arm. A larger stab of pain as someone checked the left. And still with the fucking hands.

“We’re going to need an X-ray, this arm might be broken.”

\---

A few centuries later, one of his fingers twitched. It was like waking up from a nightmare, mind fully awake and just on the edge of panic, but body still asleep, not responding to commands. He focused on the finger. After too much effort, he got it to actually move again. Then the rest of his fingers. He curled his hand into a fist. Did it again. Slowly everything else started to work again too. As soon as he could, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and clumsily clawed the oxygen mask off of his face. There were wires stuck to his chest, and he yanked those off too.

Nearby, an alarm started to blare, the machines he'd been hooked to now thinking that he was dead. A nurse rushed into the room, saw him sitting up, and held up his hands placatingly. "Sir, I need you to lie back down. You've--"

"Stay the fuck away from me," Gavin yelled. He didn't even mean to say it, the words just came out. "Where's my stuff? I need--" _Shit._ They had cut his clothes off of him. He couldn't just get dressed and get the hell out of here. "My phone. Where's my phone?"

The nurse stepped forward, moving slowly like he was afraid of spooking him, and that kind of pissed Gavin off. He grabbed a bag that was hooked onto the end of the bed and tossed it close enough for Gavin to reach. "I'm going to go find the doctor," the nurse said, then backed back out of the room. 

Gavin pulled the bag closer. His phone, badge, wallet and keys were all inside. His hands still weren't quite working right, but he managed to get it open and fish out the phone. The screen was cracked, but it turned on when he pressed the button and when he tapped the screen his contacts popped up. Then he hesitated, because who the fuck was he supposed to call? He didn't want anyone to know about this.

Finally he hit the button to call Tina, because maybe he could convince her to not ask too many questions. The phone rang for so long that he was afraid it was going to go to voicemail, but eventually it clicked through.

"Fucking hell, Gav," Tina said, her voice foggy with sleep. "Why are you calling me at...four in the morning?"

"I need you to go to my apartment and get me some clothes," he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded weird.

"Clothes? What are you talking about?" There was the sound of movement, probably her sitting up in bed. Then, annoyed, "What the hell did you do this time?"

"Please, Tina, can you just stop asking questions? My apartment. Clothes. Please." He didn't say please often, so saying it twice should get her attention. "I'm at the hospital, I need clothes, and a ride, and I need to get the fuck out of here."

"The hospital?" Now she was completely awake, concern sharp in her voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Nothing happened. I'm--" he tried to say that he was fine, but the lie just wouldn't come out. "Just broke my arm." That was true enough. The asshole doctors hadn't even given him anything for the pain before setting it. Just because he couldn't scream didn't mean it hadn't hurt.

"Okay, but why…" She trailed off, maybe hearing something in his voice that made her stop. "Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Which hospital?"

\---

The doctor showed up and Gavin told her to shut the hell up. He sure as fuck didn't want to hear a list of his injuries. He could feel them. He remembered them happening. No need for the reminder. He just kept insisting that he wanted to fucking leave, ASAP.

"I highly recommend that you stay at least a few more hours for observation," the doctor tried one last time. "The drug you were given can cause some serious, even fatal, complications."

"I don't give a fuck what you recommend," Gavin said. "I'm leaving. So just bring me whatever forms you need me to sign."

"Okay then," the doctor said, then she sighed. "I'll have someone bring you the paperwork. But first...there's a detective here that needs to speak with you about what happened."

 _"No."_ There was no way in hell that he was letting this go down on some kind of official record. Not just the risk of someone from work finding out about it, and that was bad enough, but he was going to deal with this himself. He wasn't going to be able to sleep until he put a bullet between that asshole's eyes personally. "There's no way in hell I'm talking to some cop about this. Tell him to fuck off."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, "but I'm not allowed to do that. If you're not willing to speak to her, you'll have to tell her that yourself."

Fuck. He slumped back against the bed and rubbed at his eyes. He just wanted this to be over. He sure as hell didn't want to answer any questions about it. His eyes burned and his chest felt tight and he swallowed hard, willing his body to just pull it together long enough for him to get home so he could freak out in private.

Someone tapped lightly at the door, even though it was standing wide open. "Detective Reed? I'm Detective Madison, and I need to ask you a few questions about what happened last night." She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Fuck. Of course she already knew his name, and that he was a cop. That was going to make it that much harder to get rid of her. "Fuck off," he said. "I don't have anything to say to you. I got drunk and passed out behind a dumpster. That's not a crime."

"The doctors told me that your blood alcohol level was barely above the legal limit. We both know that you weren't drunk," she said, "and even if you were, that wouldn't explain your injuries." Her voice was calm but firm, the exact tone that the Academy taught them to use when talking to victims, and it made Gavin's anger surge up again. "I understand if--"

"You _understand_? You don't know shit!" he sat up too fast, setting off a stab of pain in his injured ribs, and another flare of pain in his broken arm. That was good. The pain just pissed him off more and anger was an emotion that Gavin knew how to deal with. "Fuck off with that condesending bullshit. I'm not going to talk to you! I'm not going to talk about--" he broke off, pressed his fist against his mouth, sucked in air through his clenched teeth.

"Okay, fine," she said, her voice going hard, losing any trace of that 'talking to a victim' bullshit. "You don't want to be condescended to? This isn't just about _you_. I've got four other casefiles on my desk, same exact MO. You're a detective. You know the stakes. I need to catch this bastard, and I can't do that if you won't talk to me."

His gut clenched, thinking about this happening to four other people. It wasn't guilt he was feeling; it wasn't his fault that some asshole was going around drugging and raping people. But still. He felt something. It didn't matter. They'd get justice when he put a bullet in that guy's skull. "I don't remember what happened," he lied. "I remember going to the bar. I remember waking up here a little while ago. That's it. I can't help you."

"The drug you were given, Blue Haze, it doesn't cause memory loss. I think you remember exactly what happened. Do you remember anyone approaching you at the bar?" She waited for several long moments, giving him a chance to speak. He just glared at the far wall. "Okay. I've already spoken to the bartender. You left the bar around midnight. Can you tell me what happened next?"

_\--he tries to pick up the glass, but it slips through his fingers, dropping back onto the bar with a thud. Some of the vodka splashes out. He's only had three drinks. He shouldn't be this drunk. Gavin pushes himself to his feet. He just needs some air._

_He staggers outside and falls heavily against the wall near the door. His hands shake as he pulls the cigarettes out of his pocket. Somehow he manages to get one out of the pack, but when he tries to light it both the cigarette and the lighter tumble to the ground. His legs start to buckle and then he feels an arm around his waist, dragging him away. He tries to push it off but--_

"No," Gavin snapped. "I don't remember shit. Will you please just--"

There was a knock at the door. "Gavin?" Tina's voice.

"Fuck," Gavin said, his heart pounding. "You have to leave. _Now._ " 

Detective Madison frowned, and glanced at the door. "Okay," she said with a sigh. She pulled out a business card and handed it to him, and he crumpled it in his hand, hiding it away. "We can talk about this later," she said. "I'm not letting this go."

"Fine, just _leave_."

The door swung open and Tina stepped inside, a bundle of clothes under her arm. "Okay, I just grabbed the first--" she broke off, frowning, when she realised that he wasn't alone in the room. "Leigh? What are you doing here?"

Madison looked over at Tina, a brief flash of surprise that she quickly covered with a rather forced looking smile. "I just heard that Gavin had been injured, and stopped by to see how he was doing," she lied easily. "Now that you're here though, I should probably go. I need to get back to the station and file some reports."

Tina watched her leave with a confused expression on her face. "I didn't know that you two knew each other."

Gavin just shrugged, jaw clenched and stomach twisting. He didn't trust himself to try and say anything. Fuck. If Tina knew Detective Madison, then she probably knew what kind of cases she worked. Tina was a good cop. She knew how to piece together evidence.

"God, Gavin, you look like shit. What happened?"

"I just--" he looked up, but he could only meet her eyes for a split second before he looked away. "It's been a rough night."

"Are those bruises on your neck? What the _fuck_?" Tina took a step back. She sounded horrified. She sounded disgusted.

Gavin's hand came up all on its own, pressing against his neck. He jerked it away fast, even the feel of his own fingers there enough to nauseate him.

_\--hurts so bad, and he wants to scream, wants to fight back, but he can't. The hand comes up and tightens around his neck. Insanely the thought passes through his head that he used to find that hot. A hand around his neck. But this isn't sex, it isn't a kink, and it certainly isn't hot. He's going to fucking die here and--_

" _Don't_ ," Gavin said, his voice rough. His heart was pounding much too fast, and his hand was shaking, so he balled it into a fist and pressed it against his leg to make it stop. "Can I just have my clothes?"

Tina's jaw dropped open, then slammed shut hard. Her eyes went wide and she looked over at the door where Madison just left. She looked seriously pissed. Yeah. She fucking knew. "I--" she cut herself off, looked down at the floor, face crumpling slightly. Leaning forward, she carefully placed the clothes on the bed beside him. "I'll just wait outside, while you get dressed."

\---

Neither of them spoke, the whole car ride back to his apartment. Gavin just leaned against the car door, head dropped down on his one good arm. He was exhausted, and numb, and couldn't even work up the energy to complain about the annoying pop music Tina always kept playing in her car. When the car finally pulled to a stop, she reached up and turned the key, killing the sound of the engine and radio. They sat in silence.

Finally Gavin sat up, fumbling with his seatbelt. Everything felt slow and disconnected, and for a moment he felt a brief flash of panic that the paralysis was coming back. But it was just fatigue, and the aftermath of too much adrenaline, and stiffness settling into sore muscles. He opened his mouth and tried to say something. An apology, maybe, or just thanks. Nothing came out, so he closed his mouth and stared out the window.

"Do you want me to come up with you?" she asked.

Gavin considered it. Tina's presence was usually comforting, no matter how bad things got. But he had a feeling that as soon as the numbness wore off, he was really going to lose his shit over this, and he didn't want her to see that. "No," he said. "Thanks, but… I just want to get some sleep."

\---

When he got to his apartment he headed straight for the bathroom. He struggled out of his clothes and tossed them on the floor by the toilet. When he climbed into the shower, he turned the knob just warm enough to keep from being painful, and let the cool water rush over him, numbing his skin and chilling the ache in his muscles. At least the plastimesh cast was an upgrade over the last time he'd broken a bone, so he didn't have to worry about getting it wet. 

The thought crossed his mind that he should grab up the soap and washcloth and try to scrub away some of what he was feeling, but he didn't bother. That never fucking worked. Soap wasn't going to get rid of the itch beneath his skin. When the cold settled all the way down to his bones, and he could feel himself start to shiver, only a few minutes away from his teeth actually chattering, he turned off the water. He grabbed a towel, and did a rather shit job of drying himself off.

Dropping the towel on the floor, he stumbled into his bedroom and fell into bed, dragging the blankets over him. It took a while to actually find a position that was comfortable, one that didn't make something flare with pain. He ended up on his stomach, broken arm shoved up under the pillow so it didn't hurt as much when he dropped his head down on it. 

He was exhausted, and he wanted to fall asleep, but he just couldn't make his eyes close. When he felt the bed shift slightly, he tensed, even though he _knew_ it was just the damn cat. Trouble walked over and headbutted him right in the face, before dropping down half on Gavin's arm, half on his head, and purring loudly. He dragged his arm out from under the mass of cat, then wrapped it around the furrball, pulling it closer and burying his face in the soft fluff. Trouble just purred louder and started to groom Gavin's eyebrow, his raspy tongue just the wrong side of painful.

"You're such an asshole," Gavin said, his voice choked, but he didn't try to make the cat stop. Eventually he managed to drop off into a fitful, completely unrestful doze.


	2. Chapter 2

When his alarm went off, less than an hour after he had gone to sleep, Gavin seriously considered ignoring it. He thought about calling in sick. Then he thought about what he would say, actually talking to Fowler and trying to pass this off as the flu, or a car wreck, or…

No. Fuck that. Fowler knew him better than anyone, and he would see right through any bullshit that Gavin tried to spin. So he dug his way out from under the mountain of his cat, pushed himself to his feet, and after a moment's dizziness, made his way over to his dresser and started pulling on clothes. Pants and socks were easy enough, but he hesitated when he reached for a shirt, remembering the bruises around his neck. He dug deep into his drawer and found a high necked shirt that he had only worn twice. Gavin hated the feel of fabric tight around his neck, but he hated the thought of his injuries right out on display more, so he pulled it on.

The loss of his jacket stabbed at him again. It was late spring, and chances were that he wouldn't actually be getting cold, but somehow the thought of going out without it left him feeling too exposed. He pulled a battered DPD hoodie out of another drawer and struggled into it. As soon as Fowler saw his cast he would be chained to a desk anyway, so there was no point in even trying to look presentable.

He dragged his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it down, and decided that was good enough. It would have to be, because Gavin wasn't going to be looking into a mirror any time soon. He found his phone, and his keys, and his wallet and shoved them all into his pockets. Snapped his badge onto his belt and headed for the door. 

Gavin always set his alarm early enough that he could swing by the gym before he headed to work. Half an hour slamming his fists into a heavy bag did wonders to get his blood pumping, get him ready for the day. That wasn't going to happen today, obviously, but if he headed into work now he would have time to look through mugshots before anyone else showed up. He really wanted to find a name to attach to the bullet he was itching to fire.

\---

The bullpen looked deserted, lights turned down low, when Gavin arrived. He didn't look around, just headed directly for his desk and booted up his terminal. It took him a minute to find a comfortable position to sit, but if he held very still, the pain was manageable. The doctor at the hospital had given him a prescription for pain medication, warning him to wait at least twelve hours before taking any, to avoid any interactions with the drug he had been given last night. He could go out on his lunch break and get it filled. Until then, he'd manage.

He pulled up the database of mugshots, narrowing it down by age, race, and height before pulling up the pictures themselves. There were hundreds of them, and that was just in Detroit. He couldn't be sure that the asshole was even local, he could actually live a lot further out, just come into the city to hunt. Gavin expanded the search to include the entire state. The number of results increased exponentially. 

His gut clenched. It seemed hopeless. But, he had to start somewhere, so he started clicking through the pictures. Gavin glared at them, one by one, waiting for that spark of recognition. He would recognize the bastard. He knew that he would. But nothing.

After clicking through to the next screen dozens of times, he felt his frustration growing. This wasn't going to work. It was too slow. There were just too fucking many of them. And there wasn't even any guarantee that the perp would even be in here. Maybe he had never been arrested, but Gavin couldn't run the search through the DMV database without authorization.

Letting out a curse, he closed out the search and opened up the program that they used to generate composite sketches. Clicked through the options, changing the nose, the eyes, the shape of the face, the hair. It took too damn long, but he knew that he had it right when he looked at the picture and felt the urge to vomit. That was the guy. His jaw clenched and he had to look away from the screen.

"Detective Reed. Are you alright?"

Gavin jumped, biting back a wince when he moved too fast and pain flared through him. He hadn't heard anyone approach. He'd thought that he was alone. A quick smash of the keys and he hid what he had been working on, clearing his terminal screen, then he looked up. The robot, Anderson's plastic partner, was standing there not five feet away, staring at Gavin with some false impersonation of concern on its face.

"What the fuck are you doing here, tincan?" he snapped, not entirely able to keep the sudden flare of panic out of his voice. How long had it been here? How much had it seen?

"I stayed at the station overnight to work on some video analysis," Connor said, in that smooth fake robovoice. "You don't usually arrive at work this early, and your stress levels are unusually high. I was concerned that you might be in some kind of distress."

It had been here the whole time. It had been watching him, _analysing_ him. Gavin felt his heart rate spike, and his breath catch, and he knew the damned 'bot could see that too. When the thing had been assigned to the DPD, he had looked up everything he could find on it. He knew about its advanced sensors. Its preconstruction and reconstruction routines. He wondered if it could just look at him and see all the damage. The bruises on his neck. Where, exactly, his arm had been broken. The cracked ribs. Everything else. If it could just look at him and _reconstruct_ what had happened last night.

"Mind your own fucking business," Gavin snapped, his voice cracking. "I'm _fine_. Don't fucking scan me, just...leave me the hell alone."

Connor stared at him for another long moment, its LED spinning bright and yellow. "I'm sorry," it said eventually. "I didn't mean to disturb you." 

Gavin watched as it walked away, disappearing around a corner. When it was gone, he tried to force his attention back to what he had been doing, but he couldn't. His eyes just stayed fixed on the place where the android had vanished. Several long minutes later, it reappeared, holding a cup in its hand.

"I brought you coffee," Connor said, its brow still creased with pseudo-concern. "I thought it might help."

He couldn't move. He just watched as the 'droid stepped forward, set the cup down on the edge of his desk, and walked away. His eyes tracked it as it walked across the bullpen, back to its own desk. Connor sat down, raised one hand and touched it to its terminal, its fingers going white. Images flashed across the screen, too fast for Gavin to follow. Eventually, after far too long, he managed to drag his eyes away.

Gavin looked at the cup of coffee, steaming on the edge of his desk. He really wanted coffee. Maybe it would knock some of the haze out of his brain. Reaching out, he picked it up, stared down at it. It was the right color, just enough cream added to take the edge off of the bitterness. If he took a sip, he just knew that it would have the right amount of sugar too. How had the 'droid learned how he took his coffee? He raised the cup to his lips, and then he froze, irrational panic setting in.

There was really no chance that Connor would have drugged his drink. That was stupid. The last few months, since the revolution, Gavin had actually tried to be less hostile. Not because he believed that androids were people, but just because he gave a damn about his job, and throwing down with the 'droid would have gotten in the way of that. Even if Connor was still holding a grudge, the precinct was full of cameras. Nothing could happen without being recorded. Gavin knew that. The 'bot knew that. The coffee was safe.

He set the cup back down so hard that the hot liquid splashed out, singeing his hand. Gavin wiped his hand off on his pants, then dragged it across his face, letting out a muffled curse. He needed to pull his shit together. Forcing himself to move, he turned back to his terminal, pulled up the sketch he'd made, and started running it through facial recognition. 

\--- 

An hour and a half later, the rest of the day shift started filing into the station. Gavin didn't look up, just kept his attention focused hard on his screen, trying his best to project 'don't fuck with me vibes.' It seemed to work, because no one even tried to talk to him. But, not much later, he sensed someone looking at him and glanced up to see Fowler scowling down at him.

"Okay, Reed, my office," Fowler said, sounding far too tired for first thing in the morning. 

Gavin winced, he'd known it was coming, but still. He waited until Fowler had turned away and started walking towards his office before he even tried to lever himself out of his chair. Even though he tried, he couldn't completely hide just how much the mere act of standing up had hurt. Hopefully no one noticed.

"What the hell happened to you?" Fowler asked, as soon as the door shut behind him.

"Just a stupid accident," Gavin said, looking off to the side. "Broken wrist, nothing worse." He seriously hoped that no one had notified Fowler of what had actually happened last night. If they had then he'd probably be off duty completely for weeks. Probably even have to pass a psych review to come back, and he wasn't sure he could do that on a good day.

"An accident," Fowler repeated, like he didn't believe a word of it. But he also didn't look like he knew the truth, so small victories. He looked Gavin over hard, his eyes lingering on his hands, probably looking for bruised knuckles, checking to see if he'd been in another fight. Another minute, then he sighed. "Okay, you know the drill. Desk duty for a week, catch up on your paperwork. Light duty after that. Cold cases, witness interviews, evidence review. When the cast comes off and you recertify on the range, we'll forget this ever happened."

"Yes sir," Gavin muttered, still not looking up.

Silence dragged on for a moment too long, then, "Off the record. Are you okay?"

Gavin winced, risked a brief glance up, then looked away fast when he saw the uncharacteristically concerned expression on Fowler's face. "Yeah, fucking peachy," he said, voice cracking slightly. "Can I just get back to my desk? I've got a lot of paperwork to do."

\---

He took his lunch break early and walked to the nearest pharmacy to get those painkillers. Ten minutes of waiting around for the prescription to be filled, then he swallowed one dry before he even left the store. It hadn't been twelve hours, but he wasn't willing to wait. Gavin wasn't a wimp when it came to pain. He had certainly felt enough of it to develop a tolerance. This time it just seemed different. Every jolt he felt, every wince he couldn't hide, it felt like sending up a flare: broadcasting what had happened to anyone who happened to glance his way. Hopefully the pills would help.

Maybe he should have stayed home today. He was too on edge. Getting paranoid. Everytime he had looked up, glanced across the bullpen, he thought he saw the android just turning away. As though a few seconds earlier it'd had its eyes trained right on him. That was ridiculous. There was no reason for Connor to look at him at all. They had been successfully ignoring each other for months. Except then he thought of their confrontation that morning, the coffee, the false-concern confused expression on its plastic face. Fuck. Maybe it had been watching him.

As he made his way back into the station he almost walked right into Tina as she was leaving. She took a step back, her eyes going wide. "Shit," she said. "You actually came in today?" Her hand reached out to him automatically, unthinking, but then she snatched it back half-way, tucking it away. Of course she wouldn't want to touch him anymore.

Gavin crossed his arms across his chest--awkwardly, because of the cast--and glared down at the floor. "Of course I came in," he said stiffly. "I'm fine, and I have work to do."

"Right," Tina said, in the same exact tone she'd usually say _bullshit._ An awkward pause. "How...how's the arm?"

"Still broken."

"Yeah, okay," she said. She sighed. "Look, do you want to come with me to lunch? I'm meeting Val, but I could tell her to buzz off…? Or you could join us? Just, I--"

"No," he said, voice too harsh. "I'm not hungry. Just go spend time with her. I'm fine, really. I have work to do."

"Gavin," she said, her tone so bleak it actually got him to look up, only to wince at the expression on her face. "Call me later, okay? I'm worried about you."

"I...yeah, okay. I'll call."

\---

When Gavin made it back to his desk, the facial recognition search had finally finished. He pulled up the results, and his stomach sank when he saw just how many there were. It could take weeks to get through all of this. Running a search off of a composite sketch was never as effective as an actual photograph, too many false positives, but he hadn't thought it would be this bad. Fuck it. He'd look at every single one of them if he had to.

He downloaded all the data onto his tablet, at least it was better than having it right up on his terminal where anyone could see it. It didn't make it as obvious that no, he was not catching up on his paperwork. Slowly, he swiped through the mugshots, six at a time, glaring carefully at each and every one of them. Sometimes he paused, and he thought...maybe? But on closer inspection, it was never him. Each set he flipped through, without finding the right face, his tension seemed to inch higher.

"Detective Reed."

_"Detective Reed."_

"What!?" he snapped, finally looking up from the tablet. His vision actually blurred as he did so, and everything seemed to lurch several feet to the left. He dropped the tablet into his lap and rubbed hard at his eyes, trying to bring the world back in focus. When he looked up again, he was not at all surprised to find the android standing there, head tilted, just staring at him with that dumb expression on its face. "What do you want, plastic?"

"Your shift ended hours ago," it said, "and your str--"

"If you say one fucking word about my stress levels, I'm going to shove this tablet down your throat," Gavin said flatly. "I told you not to fucking scan me."

Connor took a step back, frowned, its eyes narrowing and forehead creasing. If it wasn't for the spinning yellow light at its temple, it would have looked incredibly human. Just as annoyed and frustrated as any of the thousands of people Gavin had pissed off in the past. But it wasn't human. It was just one of Elijah's fucking toys. They glared at each other for a long moment, and then it shook its head.

"I was only going to suggest that maybe you should take a break," Connor said. "Lieutenant Anderson mentioned that you had been placed on light duty for the next several weeks. I don't think that working yourself to exhaustion qualifies."

"Why do you even care?" Gavin asked, frustrated. "What are you even still doing here? Your shift is over too. Shouldn't you be following Hank around, annoying him?"

"I _don't_ care," it said, and wow, he didn't know that machines could sound that pissy. "I'm still here because I still have work to do, and unlike humans, _I_ don't require rest."

"Then go! Work! Just stop bothering me," Gavin picked the tablet back up, trying to ignore how his hands were shaking. He was still having trouble focusing, and he was too angry to even try. Stupid androids, with their stupid, overdesigned--

His mind skipped, and a line from the RK800 specs brief--which he had read over, in a know your enemy mindframe--suddenly floated through his head. "Wait just a second," he said, the words coming out before he could stop and reconsider. He saw Connor pause, already walking away but stopping to look back over one shoulder. Gavin bit his lip. Fuck, he really didn't want to ask for help from the plastic, but this search could take weeks doing it on his own. He didn't have to tell it _why_ he was looking for this asshole.

"What?" Connor asked, sounding impatient.

"You have some kind of advanced facial recognition software, right?" 

"I do," Connor said. It turned around, crossed its arms, raised one eyebrow. "Why?"

"I'm trying to look through mugshots, find a perp. All I've got is a composite drawing to compare to," he lifted up the tablet, waving it slightly. "The computer spat out literally thousands of possible matches. It's gonna take me weeks to sort through. You think you could narrow it down any?"

"It's quite possible that I could. My algorithms are far more advanced than the ones currently in use by the DPD." It looked right at him, its eyes narrowed. "But why should I?"

Good fucking point. There was no fucking reason that it should help him. He'd been nothing but a dick to the 'bot since the first time he'd seen it, and then, after months of tenuous peace, today Connor had tried to reach out and all Gavin had done was slap it down. It had every reason to be pissed. "I'd owe you one," Gavin said weakly, knowing that wouldn't count for shit. "I just, I really need to find this bastard."

Silence dragged on. He really expected it to just walk away. Except then, "Okay," Connor said. "You 'owe me one'? In return, I want you to _try_ to be less of an asshole. Forever seems like too much to ask, so let's say a week. Do you think that is something you're capable of?"

Gavin just blinked at it. The fuck? But then he shook his head, trying to clear it, "Okay? I, yeah, I can try to do that. ...thanks?"

The damned android actually rolled its eyes at him, but then it stepped forward and took the tablet out of his hand. It pressed its hand against the tablet and its skin rolled back so it could interface directly with it. That still made Gavin's flesh crawl a bit. Through the back of the screen he saw the images begin to flicker much too fast for the human eye to process. "This will take approximately 28.4 minutes to complete," it said, "you should take the time to rest."

_Approximately._ Gavin bit back a snide response about that. He didn't even complain about the 'bot telling him what he should do. See? He could do this not-an-asshole thing if he tried. He turned his chair back towards his desk, propped his elbow up against the edge of it, and dropped his head into his hand. Now that he wasn't moving, or talking, or trying to focus on something the exhaustion hit him full force. He hadn't really slept the night before, hadn't even had any coffee, because that would have meant getting up to go find it, and he had been trying his best not to move. It was taking everything he had not to pass out right there.

He turned his head just a bit, looked to the side, and yeah. Apparently the 'droid was just going to stand there the whole 28.4 minutes. If it really wanted to be treated like a human, then it should stop being so fucking weird and just sit down like a normal person. It was staring down at the tablet, brow creased in concentration, like it was actually capable of seeing all of those images that were flicking past too fast to focus on. Maybe it actually could. Except then it looked up, caught his eye, and raised one brow. Apparently the damned thing could multitask. Gavin jerked his eyes away and scowled, annoyed to have been caught staring. Fucking androids.

Gavin closed his eyes, and let his mind drift, and very pointedly didn't look over at the 'bot again. He was almost on the edge of dozing off, but he wasn't that far gone, so he _knew_ it hadn't been 28.4 minutes when it suddenly put the tablet down on the desk and walked away, uttering a brief, "Excuse me for a moment."

He sat up straighter, and rubbed at his face, and stared down at the tablet. Didn't pick it up though, he didn't want to risk interrupting Connor's search. Where the fuck was it going now? He didn't have to wait long to find out. A few minutes later it reappeared, holding a pizza box in its hand. It dropped it down on the desk between Gavin and the terminal. "Eat," it said, before picking the tablet back up and continuing the search.

"What the fuck?" Gavin asked.

"It's food," it said, in an incredibly condescending tone. "Something that humans require in order to function. I suggest you try it."

"I know what the hell pizza is!" Gavin snapped, then immediately tried to dial it back because of the deal. "Just how'd you get it here so fast?"

"I ordered it almost an hour ago," Connor said, still staring down at the tablet. "My _scans_ indicated that if you didn't eat something soon you would pass out. There was only an 8.2% chance that I could convince you to go home, so I thought that ordering food would be less of an inconvenience than waiting until you were unconscious and calling an ambulance."

Okay, now the thing was definitely trying to piss him off. Gavin clenched his jaw, and looked away, but the smell of the pizza was making his stomach stand up and take notice, so he decided to just go with it. "Fine," he muttered, then flipped open the box. Plain cheese, not exactly his favorite, but not something he was going to turn down at the moment. He grabbed a slice and started chewing. Half-way through the second slice some of the fog in his head retreated, and his hands stopped shaking as badly. He didn't want to admit it, but maybe the 'droid had a point about humans needing pizza to function.

When his stomach finally called it quits, after slice three, he pushed his chair back and wiped his hands off on his jeans. He looked up and saw that Conner was just standing there, tablet hanging in one hand, loose by its side, head cocked and just staring right at him. Still fucking creepy as hell. "Are you...done?" he asked, trying to keep the asshole out of his voice.

"Yes," Connor said. "I completed the search several minutes ago, but I thought it best to wait to inform you until after you had finished eating."

"Right," Gavin said, warily. The thought of it just standing there, watching him eat was, again, creepy as hell. He reached out and took the tablet, then managed to get out, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Connor said. And then, because it just couldn't miss the chance to be completely insufferable, it said, "See? You are capable of manners, when you make the attempt."

Gavin shot him a glare, but resisted the urge to mouth off or shoot him the bird. The 'bot had helped him, after all. Hopefully. He looked down at the tablet. Instead of thousands of results, there were only a little more than a hundred. "Yeah, that's a lot better," he said, then ignored the android as it walked off. He started flipping through the results. The pictures displayed were a lot closer to the image that was burned into his brain, close enough to make his skin crawl, but he still wasn't seeing the right face.

Each time he swiped to a new page, his frustration rose. He should be here. Gavin knew that he hadn't gotten the sketch wrong. He was good with faces. He remembered what that bastard had looked like. But even if the sketch was right, that didn't mean the search would find him. Maybe he had never been arrested. Maybe he was from outside the state. Fuck.

He kept looking, resisting the urge to rush. But nothing. Gavin reached the end of the results and he still hadn't found him. His jaw clenched, and his hand curled into a fist, and he bit back the urge to scream. Maybe he just hadn't looked closely enough. He went back to the beginning and tried again. Nothing. Fuck. _Fuck._

Gavin didn't mean to throw the tablet. It just left his hand, all on its own, and slammed into the ground. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the flare of pain that caused, and started moving. His heel crunched against the screen of the tablet, shattering it further, but he just kept going.


	3. Chapter 3

Gavin shoved the door to the locker room open so forcefully that it slammed into the wall. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He had to find that bastard. He _had_ to. He had sworn that he was never going to let anyone hurt him like that again. That was one of the reasons that he had become a cop. To stop assholes like that.

_Stop them._ Not track them down like some kind of vigilante and put a bullet between their eyes. Fuck. He felt a stab of guilt over his plans, but he shoved it back down. Right now it didn't even matter. He didn't have a name, or an address, or any idea of where to start looking. Had he really thought that he could just flip through some mugshots, find out the guy's name, and then go take him down? It was never that fucking simple. He knew what the solve rate on cases like this was, and that was with the full power of the department working on it. Trying to do this on his own, he didn't stand a chance.

Gavin wanted to scream, but he choked it back down and stumbled over to a sink to splash some water on his face, trying to calm down. Then he made the mistake of looking up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and he recoiled. No wonder everyone had been looking at him like that all day. Tina, and Fowler, and even the damned robot. 

His face was too pale, and his eyes were red, the shadows beneath them darker than he'd ever seen. The collar of his shirt wasn't quite high enough to completely hide the bruises around his neck and darkened skin was visible along the edge of the fabric. He reached up and used one finger to tug the collar down, staring at the all too clear handprint around his throat, trying really damn hard not to remember what that had felt like. Fuck.

He didn't even mean to move, his fist just lashed out, shattering the image in front of him. Gavin stared blankly down at the shards of glass in the sink, at the drops of blood beading on his knuckles. It took several long moments for his mind to catch up with what had happened. The rush of pain as his fist slammed into the mirror had actually cleared his head somewhat, he didn't feel as angry, as shaky.

Then he heard the door to the locker room swing open. "Detective Reed?" Connor, because of _course_ it was.

"What the fuck do you want now?" he yelled, forgetting entirely about their deal. "Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?" Anger boiled back up and he drew his fist back, ready to slam it into what was left of the mirror, not giving a damn that doing so would shred his hand on the remaining shards of glass.

"Stop," Connor shouted, stepping forward to grab his arm, "you're just going to cause yourself more damage."

"Let go!" Gavin tried to pull his arm free, but the android was freakishly strong. It spun him around and then grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back against the wall. Connor was still talking, but Gavin couldn't make out the words over the rush of blood in his ears. "Get off me! Get--"

_\--tries to fight back, but everything is responding too slowly. The hands dig painfully into his shoulders and then slam him back against the wall so hard his head cracks against the bricks and everything goes blurry. Shit. It's so hard to move, but he manages to lift his head. Blinks to try and clear his vision. It's that asshole from the bar, the one--_

"--need to calm down. I let go! _Gavin! I let go!_ Just breathe," Connor said, its voice oddly panicked.

Gavin sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, then another one. He was sitting on the floor, back up against the wall, but he didn't remember moving. His hands were pressed hard against his face, the cast on his left arm digging painfully into his skin. _Fuck._ His broken arm was throbbing fiercely--he must have jarred it somehow--and his ribs were aching, and the cuts on his hand were stinging, and his heart was still pounding much too fast.

"I believe that you're having a panic attack," the robot said. "If you continue to take slow, deep breaths, it should subside soon."

Gavin kept breathing. He managed to pry his hands away from his face, but his muscles were so tense that it was hard to move. His arm really fucking hurt, and he couldn't completely hide the grimace when he let it drop into his lap. He looked up and saw that Connor had backed up about ten feet and was crouched down so that they were eyelevel. Its LED was blaring bright red and its eyes were wide. He didn't quite trust himself to speak yet, so he just glared hard at it until it looked away, giving him at least some small shred of privacy to pull his shit together. 

He dragged his hand across his face, wiping away the moisture there, which was from when he'd splashed water on his face earlier, nothing else. Gavin sure as fuck hadn't cried in front of the damned android. Fuck. He couldn't believe he'd lost it like that. And in front of _Connor._ Shame and anger and self-loathing twisted in his gut and if he could have moved he would have fled. Or maybe killed the damn 'bot. 

"I apologise," Connor said, "I did not mean to...alarm you. I was only trying to prevent you from causing yourself further injury."

"Oh, fuck off," Gavin said, his voice shaky, "and fuck you. Fuck this entire fucked up fucking day." Then he watched with tired bafflement as the LED on Connor's temple flickered and faded from red to yellow, like listening to him curse had actually calmed it down. Fucking androids. He let his head drop back against the wall, stared up at the ceiling, and let out a huff of air. "I'm fine. You should go."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that would be a good idea. You're obviously not fine, and your hand is still bleeding," Connor said. "I know you don't want me here, but...is there someone I can call for you? Officer Chen, or Captain Fowler, or--"

"No," Gavin snapped, before the damn thing could list off every person who could actually stand him. An admittedly short list. He didn't want anyone else to see him like this. His hand curled into a fist, and he felt small stabs of pain, and blood dripped down his fingers. He looked down at it and realised that there were still shards of glass embedded in the skin between his knuckles. "It's not that bad," he said. Tiny bits of glass and a little blood was nothing compared to everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. "Just hand me that first aid kit. I'll wipe it off, slap some bandaids on it."

Connor looked incredibly dubious about that, but it stood up and went over to pull the first aid kit off the wall. It walked over and put the kit down, then stepped back, giving Gavin space. He moved, trying to just reach up and pull the first bits of glass from his hand, but his arm throbbed, and his fingers didn't want to move, and a pained noise escaped from between his clenched teeth. Gavin let his broken arm drop back into his lap with a curse. "Fuck."

"Let me help you," Connor said, and it sounded sincere. No obvious ulterior motives.

Gavin's jaw clenched, and he looked away. He didn't want the android touching him. He didn't want anyone touching him. He nodded. "Okay, fine."

The android stepped forward, moving slowly, as though it was afraid of sending Gavin into another panic. He wanted to be annoyed about that, but the aftermath of the adrenaline rush had just left him feeling numb and drained. Connor wrapped its hand in several layers of paper towels and then knelt down next to him. "Give me your hand," it said, and Gavin reached out, focusing all his willpower on keeping it from shaking.

It doused his hand in alcohol and then carefully and efficiently plucked the shards of glass from his hand. It stung, but the sensation was distant, buried under the heavy numbness that had settled over him. "The cuts appear to be superficial," Connor said. "I don't think that they will require stitches." It wiped away the blood and the alcohol with a piece of gauze, and then held pressure until the wounds stopped oozing blood. 

"Why are you doing this?" Gavin asked.

"To prevent infection," it said, "and to keep you from leaking blood all over the station. That's a biohazard."

"That's not what--" he huffed out a sound that was somewhere between annoyance and amusement. "Do you do that on purpose? Take things too literally just to be an ass? You know what I meant."

Connor's lip twitched, and its LED flickered, but it didn't look up from Gavin's hand. "Yes."

That fucking figured. "Why are you helping me?" he asked. "You...shouldn't. I tried to kill you, that day in the evidence room. I would have, if you hadn't kicked my ass."

The android frowned, actually looking puzzled for a moment. "I don't know," it said eventually, "but I know that people can change. I've changed. Hank has changed." It pressed a bandage down over the cuts, smoothed it down, and then let go of Gavin's hand. "Hank killed me once. We've moved past it."

"He...what? Why?" His mind still caught a bit at the thought that Connor had actually died, even though he had seen it happen once himself. That 'bot in the interrogation room had grabbed Chris's gun and shot it before anyone could react. Then it had just downloaded itself into a new body, like a fucking Cylon, and showed back up the next day like nothing had happened. But he had a hard time imagining _Hank_ killing it, as close as they seemed now.

"He wanted me to be more than just a machine, but I wasn't," Connor said. "He wanted me to admit to feeling something, even if it was just the fear of death. But I didn't, so he killed me."

"Well shit," Gavin said. That made him feel...something. A brief flash, down beneath the numbness. He didn't want to examine it too closely. "I don't. Change, I mean. Not sure I know how."

"Maybe not," Connor said. It looked away and started cleaning up the debris from the first aid kit. "You promised you would try though. For a week at least. I'm holding you to that."

"Yeah. I'll try." He wasn't sure why, but he would. 

Connor turned away. It threw the blood stained towels and bandage wrappers into the trash, and then placed the kit back on the wall. "Can you stand up?"

"Probably not," Gavin admitted. "I just need a minute." He dug around in his pocket until he found the bottle of pills, fumbled it open, and then swallowed one down.

"Do you want me to leave?" Silence lingered, and when Gavin didn't respond, Connor walked over and sat down on the floor against the wall, leaving several feet of space between them. "Hank thought that you were in a car wreck, and that was why you're injured. You weren't."

Gavin considered lying, but he knew there wasn't much point, the 'bot was a walking lie detector. "I got in a fight." Still not the truth. It hadn't been a fight, because he hadn't been able to fight back. That was as close as he was willing to get though.

"The search you were running…" Connor said, and then it hesitated. More silence. "You didn't find what you were looking for."

"No." He considered leaving it at that. Gavin didn't know how much the android had pieced together. He didn't want to know. At least it was keeping any speculation to itself for the moment. He sighed, and admitted, "I didn't find him. Thinking that maybe he was from outside the state. He had an accent, not much of one, but not local. Or maybe he's just not in the database, if he's never been arrested."

"I could run another search," Connor suggested. "My access to FBI and DMV databases was never suspended. That was probably just an oversight, but… If I extend the search nationwide, it will take some time to process, at least a day, maybe more, but there might be better results."

Gavin's stomach twisted at the thought of looking through even more mugshots, but what choice did he have? He wasn't giving up. He just didn't understand why Connor was willing to help him. "You'd do that?"

"I promised to help you," Connor said, "and I never abandon my mission."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take longer. Not...*dumps three in one day*
> 
> I just had these ready to go and was impatient.


End file.
